


Why Is Eames So Hot?

by earlgreytea68



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: There's an afternoon to kill, and Eames has dreamed them up a seventies game show set.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last night, watching SNL, there was a skit about a game show called "Why Is Benedict Cumberbatch So Hot?" and I was on the Slack chat with QueenThayet and someone else I can't remember now, gah, because I'm terrible, but, anyway, I said that Eames would totally make Arthur play this game show, so here's a fic about it.

“So, we have time to kill. Is that what you’re saying?” 

“A few hours,” Arthur replied, examining his gun closely. “That’s it. Just until the Somancin runs out.” 

Eames watched him. “What are you doing?” 

“Cleaning my gun.” 

“And you don’t even mean that euphemistically,” noted Eames sadly. 

Arthur gave him a look. 

Eames said, “We have a free afternoon in a dream and you’re going to spend it _cleaning your gun_. _Not euphemistically_.”

Arthur shrugged. “Why not?” 

“It’s a _dream gun_ , Arthur! It doesn’t need to be cleaned!” 

“It gives me something to do. And no.” 

“No what?”

“No to what you were going to ask me.” 

“You have no idea what I was going to ask you.” 

“You were going to suggest we play cards, and I am never playing cards with you again, because you are a horrible cheater and a sore loser.”

“I cannot simultaneously be a cheater and a loser,” Eames pointed out. “If I had been cheating, I would have won.”

“No, because I’m a better cheater than you are,” replied Arthur. 

“You’re definitely not,” said Eames. 

“Sore loser,” sang Arthur, focused on his gun. 

Eames frowned and looked around the flat where they were currently hiding out. Arthur had designed it, so it was sleek and modern and _dull_. 

Eames scrubbed it clean and replaced it with a lot of neon and blinking lights. 

“What the fuck,” Arthur complained. “Change it back.”

“You change it back,” retorted Eames. 

“Mature,” said Arthur. “I’m not getting in a décor fight with you, we’ll have projections swarming all over us. So if you want to spend the afternoon in some kind of fucking seventies game show, so be it.” 

Eames looked around. “Seventies game show? That’s what you think this looks like?”

“It _is_ what it looks like.” 

“Seventies game show,” mused Eames. “Excellent! Let’s play!”

“We’re not playing any games, Eames,” said Arthur, sounding exasperated.

“Yes, we are.” Eames conjured himself a game show host podium and bounded up behind it. “This is a little game I like to call…Why Is Eames So Hot.” 

Arthur looked up from his gun. “What,” he said flatly. 

“Arthur, you’re our first contestant. Tell us: Why is Eames so hot?” 

“You are out of your mind,” said Arthur. 

“An unusual trait to find appealing, but I can see how it would be attractive to _you_.”

“No, that’s not what I—I am not playing this game.” 

“Because you can’t put my hotness into words?” guessed Eames sympathetically. “It’s okay. Feel free to act it out using charades.” 

Arthur glared at him. “I am cleaning my gun.” 

“So, for your charade, you are going to rub your hand up and down a phallic object—”

Arthur put his gun down sharply. “ _Eames_.”

“Do you want me to move on to the next contestant?”

“We’re the only people here.”

“Like I can’t dream up some projections for you to compete against, darling. Look, here’s our next contestant: my mum.”

There was a moment of silence. The projection of Eames’s mum waved cheerfully to Arthur. 

Arthur said, “Your mom.”

“Mum, why is Eames so hot?”

“Ew, Eames, don’t ask your _mom_ that, that’s weird and gross,” said Arthur.

“Arthur says you’re disqualified, Mum,” Eames told his mother’s projection. “Probably because he thinks I’m hot for sexual reasons.”

“ _Eames_ ,” exclaimed Arthur, as Eames’s mother’s projection disappeared. 

“For the record,” Eames informed Arthur primly, “she was going to say that I’m so hot because of all the heavy woolen jumpers she knits me.” 

“This is the most ridiculous game show anyone has ever played in the history of time,” Arthur informed him. 

“Contestant number three!” announced Eames, as the projection popped up. 

“That’s you,” Arthur pointed out. “Contestant number three is you.”

“Other Eames,” Eames said to his own projection, “why are we so hot?” 

“It has to do with the size of our cock,” said Other Eames. 

“It’s true,” Eames agreed seriously. “We do have an enormous penis.” 

“I have seen your penis,” said Arthur. “It is a completely normal-sized penis.” 

Eames and Other Eames both narrowed their eyes at Arthur. “When did you see our penis?” they asked in unison. 

“This is a stupid game,” said Arthur, blushing. 

Eames let Other Eames disappear and cocked his head speculatively at Arthur. “Darling…” 

“Oh, look, another contestant,” said Arthur, as a projection of Cobb popped up. 

“Cobb?” said Eames.

“Cobb,” said Arthur to the projection, “why is Eames so hot?” 

“Well,” said Cobb, squinting thoughtfully, “I always thought it was because of the size of his—”

“Oh, my God,” said Eames, horrified. “Is he going to talk about my penis? Shut him up, that is _disgusting_.” Eames pounced toward Arthur to shake him a bit to get him to let go of the projection he was holding. “I don’t want Cobb to have thought about my _penis_ ,” he protested, as Cobb disappeared and as Arthur giggled madly in the chair, half-heartedly fighting Eames off. “Now _I_ have to think about Cobb thinking about my penis, that is so revolting, ugh.” 

“For the record,” Arthur said, still laughing and slapping Eames away, “he was going to talk about the size of your biceps.” 

“That is even grosser, I don’t want Cobb looking at me, ugh, see, you have _ruined_ the afternoon by making it sound like Cobb has _sex_ , ugh.” Eames shuddered dramatically. 

“He has children.”

“I always assumed those were created in a lab. It seemed like the way Cobb would go about making children.”

Arthur laughed. Eames, crouched half-over Arthur, resting basically between his legs, watched him laugh and loved him madly and dared to hope, suddenly, abruptly, that he might actually have a chance. Because Arthur had been silly with the Cobb projection, been silly in response to Eames, and Arthur had apparently, at some point, expressed enough curiosity in Eames’s penis to have looked and _remembered_ … 

Arthur, laughter faded, looked up at Eames and Eames held his breath and waited to be pushed away. But Arthur shook his head and smiled. “Why are you so hot?” he asked softly. “You really shouldn’t be so hot. You’re fucking annoying, is what you are.” 

Eames pressed his advantage. Arthur wasn’t moving away, so Eames moved closer. “I make you laugh,” he said. 

“You make me laugh,” agreed Arthur, and fell silent and looked contemplatively at Eames. 

“What?” Eames asked finally, anxious for the decision. 

“Nothing,” Arthur said. “Just wondering what we’re going to do with the rest of the afternoon after you kill a couple of minutes having sex with me.”

“A _couple of minutes_?” said Eames, and kissed Arthur’s smiling mouth. “Fuck you,” he muttered into Arthur’s amusement. 

“Yes, please,” said Arthur.


End file.
